


(keep in) touch

by blueinkedbones



Category: Teen Wolf (TV) RPF
Genre: M/M, hurt because comfort, touch kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-24
Updated: 2017-08-24
Packaged: 2018-12-19 09:02:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11894433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueinkedbones/pseuds/blueinkedbones
Summary: Dylan's got a scene with content, here and there. Tyler can sort of remember what that felt like. That sense of connection, however fleeting. Like maybe all this means something.Nineteen takes in, Dylan sneaks over to Tyler's side, actually manages to hide behind him for thirty seconds before he's caught pinching the back of Tyler's neck.“So intimate,” he says in Tyler's ear, and Tyler swats at him, and Dylan falls over laughing, hugging Tyler's side.He gets booted off set a minute later, but it's still better than nothing.





	(keep in) touch

The first time Dylan hits Tyler, it's an accident.

It's a frenzied scene, Stiles freaked out and panicking, desperate, over Derek's too-still body. The guy's not responding to anything, Stiles' hands scrabbling at his lolling head, his stiff still-warm neck, and time is a living, breathing tick, that pulse in Derek's throat and the complete lack of any other movement, even as he's shouting, even as he's patting at him, even as he reels his hand back, screams, _C'mon!_

It wasn't supposed to actually connect. Dylan's hand, Tyler's face, it wasn't—No way. There are editing tricks, cuts, angles, you don't actually injure somebody, just doing a take with them. Dylan, he's not the most seasoned actor in the world, but he knows that.

“Oh my god,” he says, the fog lifting the second his hand lands, his whole body ringing with the force of contact. “Oh my _god_ , are you okay?”

Tyler shakes his head like no, it's fine, but he's blinking back tears, and Dylan's hugging him before it's a conscious thought. It's barely even reassurance, how quick Tyler gives in to it, hugs Dylan back. Really, this is so wrong it's actually, literally sickening.

When Dylan pulls back, Tyler's nose is bleeding.

Dylan's the worst scene partner in the world.

 

Ten minutes with a balled up tissue, Tyler's fine, ready for hair and makeup to fix him up for the next take. Dylan... is not.

“Dude, I am _so_ sorry,” he says again.

There's a wild look in his eyes, like he's just seen someone gunned down in front of him. It's a little hard not to laugh.

“It's okay,” Tyler says. He is laughing, a little bit. But still, trying not to. That's what matters.

“I made you _bleed_ ,” Dylan says, and that's even funnier. “I did! Like, actual— _blood loss_. Actual... What?”

Tyler's laughing so hard now it's actually a little difficult to breathe.

“ _Blood_ loss,” he chokes out, and Dylan half-grins too, despite himself. “ _Blood_ —I can't, Dylan.” He swipes his eyes dry, and Dylan pats his shoulder, keeps his hand there.

Actually, Tyler might need a minute.

 

There've been scenes like this before, scenes that got a little too... Tyler doesn't know. In the Jeep, or the Camaro, cooped up in the car for hours, it's a different feeling than just acting. Something shakes loose, breaks open.

In the pool, season two, that was another one. Being so close for so long it became weird, when suddenly they weren't. Uncomfortable, when everything feels so easy, and then they get the shot, and Tyler has to beg for Dylan's attention.

It should be one way or the other. It should be... It shouldn't feel like more than it actually is. Acting shouldn't feel realer than reality. And reality shouldn't feel plastic, and pointless, and empty, but that's a whole different thing.

All of this feels too far out of Tyler's control, but he can't actually make himself mind it. Which is confusing enough on its own, but whatever.

That scene in the Camaro, their first improvised scene—and it was Derek slamming Stiles' head into the steering wheel, and it was Dylan's idea.

Tyler hasn't really understood anything about them since then.

 

Tyler's weird for a while afterward, too stilted, hesitant. It's crazy, and the worst, worst feeling, like Tyler's... like he's _scared_ , or something. Of just talking to Dylan, or looking him in the eye.

Like, he keeps looking at Dylan totally normally, and then looking away the second he sees Dylan noticing. Shaking himself off, and out of it, and acting like it's nothing, until Dylan is just jumping out of his skin.

What Tyler eventually says is, “Um.”

And then nothing, for a really long time.

It's enough to make Dylan really, incredibly nervous, but then all Tyler says is, “I didn't mind it.”

“Didn't,” Dylan repeats, because Tyler's never been more unfathomable. “I... Sorry, what?”

“I kind of,” Tyler says, and then “um,” again, and nothing.

“Dude, you're killing me,” Dylan says finally. Tyler looks at him, nods, nods.

“It was a better scene,” he says. “With the, with the hit. Actually—connecting.”

“You don't have to do this,” Dylan says, his whole stomach writhing. He can feel, like, the individual esophageal muscles working into knots. “I messed up, okay, I can handle it. I've made mistakes before.”

“Yeah, but I'm saying,” Tyler says, and stops again, and Dylan's head is just one unending drum roll, waiting. “It helps. Like, the energy.”

“What, breaking for thirty minutes?” Dylan says, incredulous.

“Not _that_ part,” Tyler says, rolling his eyes. “But—overall.”

“Yeah?” Dylan says. “What, like, the—contact?”

“Sure,” which sounds a lot like no. “And, like... I don't know, it just feels more real? Or personal. Like, a closer focus.”

“Intimate,” Dylan says, terrifyingly. What, what, why would he say that? Why does he _speak_.

“Yeah,” Tyler says, nodding. “Yeah, exactly.”

 

When they do the next take, Dylan hits Tyler again.

He's a lot more careful about it, but he connects, and they keep going. Derek gasping into consciousness, Stiles' shaking fingers slipping on his shoulder, and Derek says, “Cora—”

“I know,” Stiles says; Derek's eyes are wild, darting everywhere. “C'mon—”

They do a few more takes, and Tyler's right, it's magic. Makes it a totally different thing, without the goofy fake blows. Actually touching, actually feeling Tyler react to it, Derek react to it... It's on another level.

“You're right,” Dylan tells him, after. “You're so right, holy crap.”

“ _Right?_ ” Tyler says, but he looks stunned to hear it. “Even in... even in scenes where there isn't any, like... I think it would help.”

“For sure,” Dylan says. “Yeah, definitely.”

 

They start going over sides, assigning, like, points of contact. Just little, little... like, grounding moments. And pitching it to Jeff, like, what if, when we're here... Just, this momentary...

“Like, business adds so much to a scene,” Dylan tells Jeff. “Little, like—minor prop work. Just like, establishing character, with these little, basic movements. So Tyler was thinking... Tyler and I were thinking,” he adds, when Jeff's eyes start to glaze over. “Like, character work. It's the same thing. Making an effort just to, you know, interact with your surroundings. Physically. You know?”

“It builds on it,” Tyler says between nods, but he's always so much quieter than usual, during pitching. Dylan kind of wants to grab his hand, or something.

“I just think it'd look so much more genuine,” Dylan adds, but the lack of response is starting to blare at him. “Like, so much more natural, with those interactions.”

Most of the time, Jeff doesn't answer. Or changes the subject, never gets back to it.

After a while, they stop asking.

 

Some twenty-take party scene, no point, no continuity. And times like this Tyler forgets why he's doing this, what the goal even is. When his whole job is skulking in a corner, watching half a room's worth of day-glo painted partiers pretending to have a good time, dancing in darkness to no music. It's starting to feel a lot like a wider metaphor.

Dylan's got a scene with content, here and there. Tyler can sort of remember what that felt like. That sense of connection, however fleeting. Like maybe all this means something.

Nineteen takes in, Dylan sneaks over to Tyler's side, actually manages to hide behind him for thirty seconds before he's caught pinching the back of Tyler's neck.

“So intimate,” he says in Tyler's ear, and Tyler swats at him, and Dylan falls over laughing, hugging Tyler's side.

He gets booted off set a minute later, but it's still better than nothing.

 

“Noooooo!” Dylan says, when Tyler tells him. “Wait, when? Like, next season, or...”

Like Tyler knows, he doesn't. He's barely had the courage to say it out loud.

It's just that this really isn't working anymore.

“Does Jeff know?” Dylan says, and then, “Oh, wow,” and then he's hugging him. Pulling back too quickly, but it's always too quickly. “Um, do you want me to, like...”

“Quit for me?” Tyler says. “Yeah, I don't know about that.”

“Stick around,” Dylan says. “We can go out after, like. Celebrate your freedom.”

“I still have a contract,” Tyler says. “I don't know if I can get out of it.” There's a steady rising panic that comes with even thinking about that part of it, contract disputes, letting people down. “I've never...”

“He can't keep you here,” Dylan says. “If you're that miserable.”

“I don't think that's how it works,” Tyler says.

“It is if he's not the biggest tool in the world,” Dylan says, and Tyler has to fight the urge to check and make sure Jeff's not behind them. In Dylan's trailer, he's still—It's ridiculous.

“Hey.” Dylan pushes at Tyler's shoulder, hooks his fingers there. “It's gonna be fine. He was underutilizing you anyway.”

“It's a big cast,” Tyler says.

“Yeah, and getting bigger,” Dylan says. “To the show's detriment, right? Like, who are these people? Where's Derek at? Oh, six more villains? All this fucking slow motion? Okay.”

“Tell us how you really feel,” Tyler says, more amused than he should be able to be.

“I'm serious,” Dylan says. “I'm sad that you're leaving, it seriously sucks, but I get it. Just wish it was different.”

And just like that, it's obvious. _You're leaving_ , Tyler's leaving.

The worst part's already over.

 

But of course it isn't.

They still talk, but in some ways that's worse. Dylan's always so psyched to hear from him, but it tapers down quickly from there, til he's too quiet for long stretches, voice rough when he speaks up again.

He says, “I hate not seeing you.”

Or, “Fuck. I _miss_ you.”

Or, “This really, really sucks.”

And Tyler almost wants to take it back. Un-quit, sign back up again. Lurking scene, scowling scene, whatever. Starving and shirtless and held down underwater, who cares.

“Yeah,” he says instead, and frowns out at his empty apartment, and swallows.

“Feels weird without you,” Dylan says. “Like... who'm I supposed to beat up? Got all these, like, latent abusive tendencies, now.”

“Sorry,” Tyler says, kind of hollowly.

“Don't be,” Dylan says. “Tyler. I'm not.”

 

Two days later, there's a box on Tyler's front steps, a slim black band and a thinner coiled charger. There's not a lot of information on the side. Just, _**keepr.**_ _keep in touch_ , and, _Download our free app to get started!_

“It's a ring,” Dylan says, when Tyler calls him.

“I know _that_ ,” Tyler says. He studies the packaging some more, double-checks the app. “So if I—” He pokes at the band.

“Whoa,” Dylan says. “Holy—Okay, that works. Okay—”

Tyler's ring thrums across the table.

“You felt that?” Dylan says.

“Saw it, hold on,” Tyler says, and retrieves it, and puts it on. “Okay. Try now.”

“I know there are softer settings,” Dylan says. “Like, I read... If I, like—”

The ring hums, just barely slides sideways under Tyler's knuckle.

“That's,” Tyler says. “That's... How do I do that?”

 

There's a lot of learning, the next few days. For one thing, Tyler can't get Dylan's ring to register motion unless he takes his off.

“There's a thing online,” Dylan says. “With like, finger guides. Sorry, I forgot to say.”

Tyler snorts. “Sure you did,” and then he almost destroys Dylan's next interview experimenting.

“She thought I had Tourette's, I swear,” Dylan says, he's laughing. “We gotta work on our communication.”

When Tyler watches the footage later, Dylan's looking at his hand through half of it, eyes soft, just barely not touching back.


End file.
